


Coke and Mentos

by degradedpsychotic



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Character Death, Cussing, Deathfic, Explosions, Explosives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 03:28:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/961056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/degradedpsychotic/pseuds/degradedpsychotic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a tight-knit community amongst the pyrotechnics that bombs were probably the coolest fucking thing that anyone ever invented. Like pop bottles and Mentos, on steroids. A little bang, fizz, and brief chaos until it settles. Bombs were fun. They smelled a little funny, but overall, the sight was worth carrying around the scent of gunpowder and burning paper for a while.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coke and Mentos

There were a lot of explosions. For Reno, that really wasn’t out of the ordinary, being a Turk and all. Rude liked bombs, Reno liked bombs, terrorists liked bombs—It was a tight-knit community amongst the pyrotechnics that bombs were probably the coolest fucking thing that anyone ever invented. Like pop bottles and Mentos, on steroids. A little bang, fizz, and brief chaos until it settles. Bombs were fun. They smelled a little funny, but overall, the sight was worth carrying around the scent of gunpowder and burning paper for a while. They even sold books on how to make the damn things, and the internet was crawling with videos on how to make them better. It wasn’t uncommon knowledge, really. You know that Mentos blow up in bottles of Coke, right? Simple.

It was a different fascination, however, when you were on the receiving end of the explosion.

It still looked cool, in its own right, when fire took action and shrapnel went flying. When you felt that wave hit you so hard in the chest that you could swear your heart stopped, but it stopped with such fascination that your eyes bugged out. For a split-second, you have to commend the bastard that set up that trap for making it so damn good and strong, but then you realize that shrapnel is flying at _you_ and you better take some damn cover before you lose your eyesight. But looking back, you can never be certain what you did after that split-second of awe is over. When you come back to reality, your ears are ringing, your sight’s a little fuzzy and dark around the edges, and you get back up and try advancing again. That was just what the Turks did. Fall down, get back up. Turks are invincible. Never back down.

This bomb was a little different.

He saw the colors. Red, white, yellow, a little bit of blue around the edges. Debris shot out—nails, maybe –shoddy make of a bomb with too much fire and not enough power, but it got the nails flying damn well enough. He saw Rude immediately drop no later than the damn thing exploded, taking refuge behind a coffee table that they had turned on its side for this very reason. He saw Tseng hit the floor and put hands over his head, his gun acting like a shitty little shield, but Tseng had four of his nine lives left. He heard Elena cry out in surprise and pain as she ducked behind the ratty old couch a second too late, blood leaking from her pristine face. He saw everything, as if someone hit the slow motion button on his brain, and although Rude yanked hard on his pant leg to get him down, he found himself standing still until that wave hit him from his skin to his bones to his cold excuse for a heart.

Pain.

As a Turk, you’re trained to withstand pain. Trained to withstand any amount of torture, even if it’s ripping out your own ribs. Turks have hard skin, and it isn’t unheard of for them to get right back up after getting shot in the head. They were tough as the nails ripping through a dusty blazer and pale skin, tearing and tearing and _tearing_ their way until the white carpet was stained red and there was a thud on the floor as the chaos settled and the cap was screwed back onto the bubbling bottle of Coke.

There was a beat of silence before the chaos returned in the form of rapid gunfire. The bomb had been used as a cover, and it wasn’t until now that the smoke was starting to fog up the living room of some fucking terrorist leader. Tseng was fine, standing and running into the fray with a bit of blood on his cheek. Elena ran in too, only hesitating briefly. She wasn’t a damn rookie anymore, and it was about time she started acting like it. Their earpieces screamed over the action of popping guns and screams of agony as their foes fell to the ground in their own blood. Reno was staring at the insides of his own eyelids, heartbeat thudding in his ears as static nearly drowned out the communication over their earpieces.

“Reno got hit!”

“How bad?”

“Dozens of nails—there’s blood everywhere!”

“Is he awake?”

“Reno?”

“Take him out to the med squad!”

“We’re surrounded!”

“—can’t get out!”

“Reno!”

“Fuck!”

“Lower indoor level secured! Go up to snipe the outside!”

“Get back-up!”

“ _Reno!”_

The world ended in a mass of static and bomb smoke.

The world was born in much the same.

The scent of something burning was overwhelming. He choked on it, gagging hard until there was bile in his mouth and he was forced to roll onto his stomach so he didn’t choke on it. It spilled out, smelling of sour acids and putrid insides, dropping with a sick wet sound as it hit metal tiles. Burning hair, burning clothes, and blood. Reno would have liked to say that the smell of such was rare, but that was a vast understatement of fact. He was a Turk. He smelled blood on a daily basis, and burning once a week. Like morbid clockwork.

“He’s awake.”

“Are you sure?”

“He just threw up.”

“ _Gross_.”

“Check if he has a fever.”

“His vitals look fine. He's just a little faint.”

“Thank Minerva—“

“Reno? Are you—“

The static made his head hurt, bloody fingers clawing until that damn bug got out of his ear and the conversation quieted. His arm felt heavy and he dropped it back to the bed he was on, only to find that it was _not_ a bed. Just a scratchy blanket laid on a table. There was a pillow under his head in the form of a balled-up shirt, and it took him a moment to realize that the shirt smelled of blood and burning and he was gagging again but he didn’t know _why_ —

“Reno.”

That sharp baritone brought him back from whatever hell he was clinging to, eyes flashing open and a sharp breath rattling through his lungs. Pain came with it, wracking his body and making him moan in agony. His eyes found deep brown, removed from the usual shades. A bald head, shining piercings, _familiar_.

“Do you feel sick?”

“No.”

His voice rasped, making him wince more at the sound than the pain. It was a lie, of course. He did feel a little sick, but then again, he felt like he was floating. Painkillers, probably. Weren’t doing a good job at the pain killing bit, but he felt high as a goddamn kite. He could use a cigarette.

“You’re in a medical van.”

“Thought so. Stinks like hell, yo.”

“You don’t smell so good yourself.”

A weak laugh. He was a Turk. He wasn’t _hurt_.

“The mission failed.” Smile fading. Eyes sharp.

His stomach dropped. He thought he was going to throw up again. It failed? Because of him?

“Everyone’s alright. We just got overwhelmed and had to retreat. It’s a miracle you got out alive. You lost a lot of blood.”

He knew that. “I look like shit, don’t I?”

A small laugh. “Yeah.”

“Ah well…”

Green eyes closed, pained lungs exhaling. He felt his stomach flip and more bile rise, but he forced it back down. He was too damn tired anyway. He would take a nap, wake up at headquarters, bitch about the scarring that the nails probably did, and that would be that. The little bit of mako in his veins was more than enough to keep him well. Besides, Rude was with him. Rude would make sure he was okay. Just a little nap, and everything would be fine. The smoke would clear, the chaos would settle, and the Coke bottle would be peaceful and empty. Just a nap…

 “Reno?”

“Reno!”

“I thought you said he was awake!”

“He _was_!”

“Shit—“

“He’s not breathing!”

“ _Reno!”_

“Get a fucking medic!”

“RENO!”

“He’s gone—“

“No!”

_No?_

No.

The world was born in peace.


End file.
